Sting had given it up to a band of Scottish folk rockers in white patent leather clogs and black leather pants. The guests were all drunk now, and everyone was dancing, ruining their shoes in deer shit, even Eleanor—especially Eleanor. She'd cast off her strappy gold Prada sandals and hiked up her iridescent lilac hoop skirt to boogie down with Sting himself, barefoot.
Watch out, Trudie!
Blair remained at her table with her own private bottle of Cristal champagne, chain-smoking from a pack of cast-off Chesterfields while she continued to direct the movie that was her life, in her head. They'd honeymoon on Nate's boat, which he would rename Blair, of course, sailing around Europe and maybe the nice parts of Africa. When they returned home, they'd settle into the classic Park Avenue apartment their parents would have bought for them as a wedding gift, decorated to Blair's specifications in velvet and furs, while they were away. Nate would work for a venture capitalist firm, doing something easy that made lots of money but allowed him to be home by seven so they could have sex and then go out to dinner. Blair would be a lawyer like her father, but her clients would be very few and select and she'd have a giant staff of super-efficient mousy-looking assistants to do absolutely everything for her except go to the bathroom and have sex with Nate.
Speaking of having sex with Nate, why was she sitting here watching her sad, desperate mother attempt to get it on with Sting, of all people, to the most headache-inducing music she'd ever heard in her life, when she could be home with Nate, doing it right now?
No comment.
Poor Nate—she couldn't believe she'd abandoned him for this clown show. She yanked her cell phone out of the ridiculous lilac-colored puffball drawstring bag that had come with her nasty puffball dress and searched her contact list for her mother's travel agent. Surely there was a flight leaving this godforsaken Scottish shithole in the next twenty-four hours. She didn't care if the flight was overbooked. She'd fly the plane herself if she had to. She knew Nate was back in the city, because the maid in Maine had told her so this morning after she'd called his cell seven times and he hadn't picked up. Poor Nate, all alone in his stuffy New York town house, pining for her while he wasted away on a diet of pot and tonic water. She couldn't wait to tell him all about the wedding she'd planned, and the wonderful life they would have together.
No comment.
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Gossip Girl: It Had To Be You
Teen Fiction'Welcome to New York City's Upper East Side, where my friends and I all live in huge, fabulous apartments and go to exclusive single-sex private schools. We aren't always the nicest people in the world, but we make up for it in looks and taste.' Ent...
